


So Smile

by ifdragonscouldtalk



Series: DBH Brothers Whump AU [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor-centric, CyberLife Tower Connor is Conan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Poor Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RK900 is Nines, Realistic Depictions of Recovery, Recovery, Therapy, Whump, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifdragonscouldtalk/pseuds/ifdragonscouldtalk
Summary: The peace he had found was ruined by the report of a gunshot outside, and he was momentarily stunned, momentarily thought it was in his head again, until he realized he could hear a car driving away.He looked out the window, taking in the beaten up green Sedan with a New York license plate speeding away from the street, and the body dropped in front of his house, bleeding blue all over the sidewalk, the small white dog by its side cowering and crying. He was shaking by the death grip he had on the windowsill as he watched the blood spill soundlessly from the third eye in the android’s forehead, too much like his nightmares.“I... I think I’m being targeted.”After the aftermath of Amanda's quest for revenge (in "Open Wide"), Connor has finally begun to heal when a new case once again rends his life apart and it seems like once again he is the target. But if there's one thing he and his brothers have learned since deviating, it's nothing is ever what it seems.On a hiatus. The author apologizes: she has been chronically ill recently and is trying to gain her strength back, along with figuring out a new direction for the story. Warnings for realistic depictions of mental illness and canon-typical violence.





	So Smile

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: This fic will contain REALISTIC MENTAL HEALTH RECOVERY including SUICIDAL IDEATION and THERAPY. If these things make you uncomfortable, PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION.
> 
> Welcome back to my series "101 ways to Whump Connor". This is gonna be another big one but I'm warning you, the going will be slow. I'll attempt to update once a month, at least, I'm aiming for every two weeks though. 
> 
> THIS STORY IS OPEN TO INFLUENCE AND INTERPRETATION. Based on what people predict/want to see happen, I will alter the plot to fit those comments. So please, interact with this as much as possible! 
> 
> It's really good to be here again, sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoy the first chapter, I know it's a bit slow so far, but I promise it'll pick up quick.

“How do you feel?” 

The question echoed around in his brain. It wasn’t often that Deb asked him that, and he always took some time to consider it. Sometimes, he didn’t know what he was feeling, still so new and overwhelmed. Sometimes, he couldn’t find the words, and was forced to describe it until empathetic understanding dawned in Deb’s eyes and she helped him feel a little less small, a little less lost. 

“Tired,” was his reply this time, and Deb’s eyebrows went up. He felt a mirthless, ridiculous laugh bubble up in his chest, and let it go, remembering Deb’s advice to let his emotions move through him so he could feel them and not try to suppress it. “I know, androids aren’t supposed to be tired, but I think that’s the best description for it. I don’t know how else to call it. I’m just... just tired.”

“Tired isn’t really an emotion, Connor,” she replied evenly, her eyebrows returning to their usual place. “You know that, right?” He nodded. 

“But it’s overwhelming like one.” It was her turn to nod, scribbling a small note down. He had quickly gotten over his fear of what she might’ve been writing, of how she might’ve been judging him. 

“In a normal patient, I’d tell them to consult with a psychiatrist, because there might be something more physical going on that could be treated,” she said as she wrote, glancing up at him and uncrossing her legs. She didn’t do it to close herself off from him, but to provide him a barrier between them, so he could feel more open himself. He had asked her, when she had pointed out his body language one day. When she uncrossed her legs, it was her turn to talk, to be honest. “But you are not a normal patient, Connor, as you very well know. It is even more unusual for an android to feel tired all the time than for a human, I would suppose?” She let him take the lead on matters of android physiology, both learning through their sessions not only about each other but about whole different societies and races. Connor just shook his head, casting his eyes down. 

“I don’t suppose there’s been a lot of study about it, yet, but I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “Sure, we can feel tired -- a different tired than humans, but tired. This is... different. It’s not like when I’m low on battery. It’s too much. I just want to sleep.” He was quiet for a moment, and he hated that she knew there was something else he needed to say, wished sometimes she would interrupt before he said the hurtful things and got them out in the universe. “Sometimes, I wish I wouldn’t wake up.” 

Deb didn’t look surprised, and he supposed he didn’t feel surprised. She just brushed her hair behind her ear, set her notepad aside, clasped her hands between her knees. “That’s not unusual,” she said softly. “Especially for someone who has gone through the amount of trauma and change you have in such a short span of time. And this isn’t any worse than the suicidal thoughts you were having when you first came to me.”

“It isn’t any better,” he replied, and he felt heavy, felt tired. He just wanted to be better already; how hard was he going to have to try? She smiled wryly. 

“That’s not true. You’re not feeling any urges to hurt yourself, to lash out. This is not borne out of guilt, or anger, or sadness, but out of feeling overwhelmed. It’s what we call passive suicidal ideation. It’s different, and it is better than what you were thinking before. It’s something we can work on.” That’s what she always said. But there always seemed to be something more to work on, and he didn’t feel like he was getting any better, sometimes, even though he knew that wasn’t the case. Navigating the tangled codes of his emotions wasn’t any easier for anyone else than it was for him, but sometimes he wished there was something easy, a debugging or a software update, that could make him feel normal again. He wondered if he ever knew what normal meant. 

“How much is there to work on?” She sighed, sitting back, and he leaned back as well, rubbing his hands together, feeling the edge of the coin clutched there. He only held it, but it was there when he needed it, knowing she didn’t mind it or find it a distraction. 

“There’s always going to be room for improvement; it’s the nature of humanity.” She looked at him, then frowned, rethinking her words. “It’s the nature of... being. We’re always changing, always looking to be the best version of ourselves.” He sighed, nodding, flipping the coin between his fingers anxiously, restlessly. She tried to catch his eye. “Connor, you’ve made tremendous improvement. It’s only been two months. This kind of improvement is remarkable, and it proves just how much effort you’ve put in, how much you want to live and feel and get better. I know it can seem sometimes as if no one recognizes the effort, but I  _ do. _ Your brothers do, Hank and Gavin do. Gavin asks about you, is glad you’re seeming more content.” She noticed his LED flash and smiled. “I didn’t share anything, Connor, you have complete confidentiality with me. I know it seems like a lot, and you’re exhausted, and you wonder how much more effort you’re going to need to put in. I can’t tell you that. I can’t say that one day you’re going to wake up and it’s going to be better. You’ll always have to put in effort, but the effort will lessen, the burden will be easier to bear.” 

There was silence for a moment while Connor processed, and he shuddered, imagining he could hear the rain beating on the sidewalk and the report of the gun he had used to kill Gavin still ringing in his ears, both figments of code, unreal. He knew they were false, how could they still affect him in this manner? Deb was silent, letting him think -- he appreciated these moments when she let him absorb the information and run it through his processors. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he said suddenly, switching tracks on the conversation unexpectedly, glad when Deb raised an eyebrow and went with him, “about getting an animal. I know we already have Sumo, well, Hank has Sumo, and he helps a lot... but I was thinking maybe just, something of my own. I have plants and things which I look after, but they’re not, I mean, it’s not hard to keep them alive, and I was thinking, maybe, just... Something to- to remind me to get up in the morning, that something is relying on me being there. Something mine.” He looked up, almost embarrassed, but saw Deb smiling softly at him, and the tension between his shoulders relaxed. 

“I think that’s a very good idea, Connor,” she replied. “A good step in the right direction, and one I believe at this point you are fully prepared for. It’s not an uncommon coping technique at all, especially for someone at your stage of healing. What kind of animal were you thinking?” 

“Uhm, I... I wanted to start an aquarium.” The brilliant lights from the broken aquarium which premonized his own broken body flashed through his mind, and he knew his LED cycled momentarily yellow. The fish he gently picked up, its scales wet against his sensors, and the tightness in his chest when it fell through the water momentarily before it began to swim again. “They aren’t too much trouble, once they’re set up properly, and fish are very pretty and calming to watch, and I already have Sumo to cuddle.” 

“That sounds like a fine idea, as long as you do everything properly, not that I doubt you would. Do you know what kind of fish you’d like?” Connor blinked, thinking about the small fish he had seen at his feet and wondering what had happened to it, and if the humans had taken care of the fish or left that to their android. 

“No, not yet. I’ve really only been thinking about it for a few days.” 

“Well, you’ll have to let me know your decision the next time I see you, but I personally believe it’s a great idea.” Deb smiled, and Connor remembered the first time he met her, her soft smile, the meetings twice or three times a week. It was once a week, now, and he used that to remind him that he was making progress, but sometimes it still felt too slow. 

He had been so sure that once Amanda was gone, everything would be okay again. It was anything but. 

He felt bad about lying, knowing Deb would be disappointed in him as he stared at the sea star clinging to the side of the pet store tank, the small anemone in the corner waving its tiny arms as the even smaller clownfish swam around and through it. He already had several bags of saltwater fish in his trembling hands, the appointment card for next week he had gotten only an hour before tucked in his pocket, a tank he had been preparing for a month now waiting under the windowsill in the bedroom at Hank’s house that he shared with his brothers. Three hermit crabs crawled along the bottom of the tank, several snails oozing up the sides. The clerk who had been helping him smiled, and he blinked, wondering what they saw on his face. 

“Would you like anything from this tank?” 

“Uhm,” he responded eloquently, looking down at the fish already in his hands, and knowing his tank was only big enough for a few more friends. “The- the sea star? And the anemone and his clownfish... and some of the hermit crabs. They, they’re social aren’t they?” 

“They are, sir, but three or four should be more than enough, and they’ll help keep the tank clean. Are you buying any plants today?” 

“Not today. I already have some in the tank at home.” 

And he did, probably too many. He let the fish find their own way out of the bags and into the tank, carefully placing the anemone the way the clerk had told him, pleased when the clownfish sought out his friend to check on it, watching with rapt attention as the hermit crabs explored the mix of rocks and sand he had chosen as a substrate for their new home, crawling up and down the plants he had so carefully rooted there. A smile had found its way onto his face as he watched the curious creatures explore, taking in their systematic approach to cataloguing their new environment that reminded him too much of himself. 

The peace he had found since talking to Deb and getting her approval was ruined by the report of a gunshot outside, and he was momentarily stunned, momentarily thought it was in his head again, until he realized he could hear a car driving away. He had already called Deb, unthinking, when he ran into Hank’s room across the hall and looked out the window, taking in the beaten up green Sedan with a New York license plate speeding away from the street, and the body dropped in front of his house, bleeding blue all over the sidewalk, the small white dog by its side cowering and crying. Deb picked up quickly, and he knew he was pale, knew he was shaking by the death grip he had on the windowsill as he watched the blood spill soundlessly from the third eye in the android’s forehead, too much like his nightmares. 

“ _ Connor? What’s happened? _ ” 

“I... I think I’m being targeted.” 


End file.
